


monster dog

by skuls



Series: X Files Rewatch Series [9]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s03e05 The List, Episode: s03e06 2Shy, Episode: s03e07 The Walk, Episode: s03e10 731, F/M, UST, dumb things with a dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 13:45:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11276508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuls/pseuds/skuls
Summary: Fox Mulder and his unlikely rivalry with a Pomeranian.





	monster dog

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for the list, 2shy, the walk, and nisei/731. dedicated to banjo, my Pomeranian mix, whose life i plagiarized for this fic.

They’ve taken to sharing cars everywhere when they go on cases - rental cars, driving to locations too close to fly to, driving to the airport. Mulder picks Scully up in the morning, on the way to the airport to head to the prison in Florida. He brings her a bagel in a white paper bag and uses his key to let himself in, because if he knows Scully, she won’t be ready for another ten minutes and their flight isn’t for another hour. They’re used to this, they’ve been doing this since last May, since his father and Melissa. But he’s caught off guard this time.

Usually, he calls out when he lets himself in so he doesn’t startle her. But he’s startled by the snarling and yapping from inside. Mulder shoves the door open, irrationally fearing some kind of werewolf for a split second. He finds, instead, a tiny ball of orange fur dancing around the floor and barking fiercely at him, white teeth exposed under grimy pink gums.

“Mulder, is that you?” Scully shouts from somewhere deep in the apartment. 

Mulder suddenly realizes that this isn’t some kind of werewolf (although he's not sure it's not dangerous; it did eat a human after all, dead or not). It’s that Pomeranian thing she adopted after the psychic case. “Yeah, it’s me,” he calls. “Scully, I don't think your dog likes me very much.”

Scully appears out of the bedroom, already dressed, hair wet around her cheeks. “Queequeg, hush!” she scolds in a tone Mulder's heard all too many times. It takes him a second to realize that she is addressing the dog, who quiets, huffs, and jumps up onto the couch. “Sorry about that,” she says to Mulder, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. “I'm trying to keep him from barking every time someone comes in, but considering the apartment's habit of getting broke into, I think it could be helpful.”

Well. It's hard to argue with that, but it didn't make the sound any less annoying. Most alarm systems are quiet unless there's a burglar. “He's very yippy,” says Mulder. 

Affection fills her voice, the type he's only ever heard towards kids they run into on cases: “Yes, he is.” Scully scratches Queequeg on the head. “Fifteen minutes, I swear. I just need to dry my hair.” She starts into the bedroom and Queequeg scrambles off the couch and follows her across the floorboards, right on her heels, toenails clicking on the floorboards. (Another annoying sound.)

Raising an eyebrow, Mulder sits on the couch, flipping on the TV. There's nothing good on at eight in the morning, of course.  _ And next on Bizarrely Domestic Scenes With My Partner,  _ he thinks wryly. 

The tea kettle whistles shrilly, and Scully yells, “Can you get that please?” He abandons the TV and pours two cups, automatically fixing Scully's the way she likes it, before heading into the bedroom. Queequeg lies in front of the bathroom door, nose on his paws, and he glares at Mulder suspiciously when he knocks on the door. Scully sticks her head out and grabs the mug, thanking him. 

“Your dog seems to be stalking you,” he says, pointing at him. 

“He's very clingy. I suspect it has to do with the loss of his last owner.”

“Didn't that dog  _ eat  _ his last owner?” Mulder looks down at the fuzzball. 

She makes a face. “I've got to finish up in here, Mulder.” The door closes. Queequeg whimpers and paws the crack in the door. 

“He could be staking out his next prey, Scully!” he calls through the door. The hair dryer switches on, effectively quieting any further conversation.

Mulder figures as long as he's going to be sporadically showing up at Scully's apartment that he should make peace with the beast. He kneels and reaches out to pet him. Queequeg growls fiercely as soon as his fingers get close. Well, okay then. He sits on the edge of Scully's bed and drinks his tea. 

Scully exits the bathroom a few minutes later, automatically brushing her hair. Queequeg follows her across the room. “So what's your theory?” she says, reaching for her cross on the bedside table. 

He crosses his ankles. “Isn't it obvious?”

“You mean you're buying into the reincarnation story?” Her fingers scrabble at the nape of her neck, fastening the gold chain. 

“Scully, do you know me at all?”

She rolls her eyes. “Just seems a little farfetched, that's all.”

“We've seen cases of reincarnation before, you know. Remember that little girl, Michelle, who was taking out the people responsible for that cop's death?”

“There was never any substantial proof of that.”

“Yes, there was, Scully, you  _ saw _ …”

The doorbell rings and the dog goes into a barking frenzy, charging the door. Mulder jumps. “That's the dog sitter. Queequeg, hush!” Scully shouts, going after him and scooping him up. 

“You're leaving that monster dog with someone else? Scully, how could you do this to that poor sitter?” He trails after them into the living room. 

Scully tucks the dog under her arm, shoots him a glare and a, “You shut up,” before opening the door to reveal a girl with braids. “Hi, Ms. Scully,” she says meekly. 

“Hi, Molly. Thanks for doing this. You have a crate at your house, right?”

“Absolutely. Hi, sweetie!” she coos to the dog. His tail wags wildly from under Scully's elbow. (Of  _ course _ the dog likes the sitter better than him.)

“I'm not sure how long I'll be gone, but I'll keep you updated.” Scully passes the dog to Molly before retrieving a bag by the door. 

“It'll be fine, Ms. Scully.” The girl's eyes travel past her to Mulder. “Is this Mr. Scully?”

Mulder chokes on his tea. Scully looks like she's about five seconds away from uproarious laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. “No, Molly, this is my partner. He'll be working on the case with me.”

“Oh!” The girl's cheeks pink. “I'm so sorry!”

“It's fine.” Scully hands her the bag. “I'll call you before I pick him up, alright?”

“That's fine. Come out, cutie,” Molly says to the dog, toting him off down the hall and avoiding both of their eyes. Scully burst into quiet giggles as she closes the door. 

Mulder goes for her suitcase in the corner. “Well,” he says primly, “is my wife ready for a romantic vacation in Florida?”

She jabs him in the side. “Shut up and come on or we'll miss our flight.”

He opens the door for her. “You know, that monster dog would be like our child…”

Scully smirks. “Lucky us. I'm clearly the favorite parent.”

\---

The case in Florida is closed, they pick up Queequeg from Molly’s on the way home from the library, and he paces restlessly along the backseat the whole way home. Mulder discovers it's covered in orange hairs when he gets back to his apartment.

The next case is in Cleveland, a fat-sucking monster named Incanto who leaves Scully with a major headache from bashing her head into the mirror. The woman who was his intended victim leaves him in the hospital. The ambulances takes Incanto and his victim, Ellen, to the hospital, and Scully gets checked out at the scene and assured she doesn't have a concussion. Mulder drives her back to the hotel and waits in her room while she takes a shower. 

“The hospital called,” he tells her when she comes out of the bedroom, wet hair and white robe. “Incanto pulled through surgery. They think he's going to be fine, he's already awake and in excellent condition, they said; he might have some kind of healing abilities on top of his normal mutations.”

“I can't say I'm especially happy,” Scully murmurs, sitting on the bed. She ignores his healing abilities theory. “All those women…” She pops two ibuprofens. “And Ellen?”

“She's fine, too. They've never seen this condition before, but they're treating her for chemical burns like you advised. Her friend is at the hospital with her.”

“Thank god.” Scully shifts onto the bed, leaning back against the pillows. 

“You feeling okay?”

She nods, eyes slipping closed. “Just hurts, but I'll be fine. Paramedic said I could sleep.”

Mulder touches her forehead gently. “Listen, local law enforcement has noticed some similar crimes around the country. They want me to stay and check it out. Incanto should be ready to interrogate in a week or so, we'd like to pin him down for as many murders as possible. I think you should go on and fly back.”

She opens one eye to look at him. “I'm fine, Mulder, really. It's just a headache.”

“Yeah, but you should get some rest. And we don't really need you here to look into cold cases.”

“Sure you do. Who else is gonna explain the autopsy reports?”

He chuckles quietly. “There is that.”

Scully groans a little, massaging her temples. “Tell you what. I'll fly back tomorrow, meet with Skinner. Maybe see what research I can find on… things like Incanto in DC. Then I'll head back up to help you out.” 

“Sounds good. But try to take it easy, okay?” He stands, mattress shifting with the loss of his weight. 

“Mulder, I'm  _ fine, _ ” she says, frustrated. 

“I know.” He places his hand on the top of her head for a moment; his palm spans her entire scalp. “Call me if you need anything.”

Scully flies back to DC the next morning and calls two days later to ask if their hotel is pet-friendly. “Um… sure,” Mulder says, halfway nervous. “Why?”

“Molly’s busy, my mom's in San Diego with my brother, and I can't find anyone else last minute.”

“Scully,” he says. “Are you telling me that the monster dog will be joining us in Cleveland?”

“I don't have a choice, I can't leave him alone,” says Scully. 

Which is how a yappy Pomeranian ends up sharing the thin hotel wall with Mulder. They spend the last few days before Incanto can be discharged at the police station going over recent missing women cases, Scully momentarily leaving to go let the dog out. It's depressing, confronting that many cases. Mulder drives to some of the closest ones to interview the families, which only strengthens his hate for this creature. In the end, they find forty seven cases that fit Incanto’s MO. All of whom Incanto claim. The fucking bastard.

They spend one more night at the hotel before heading home. Mulder goes to Scully's room to watch TV. He sits in the chair by the window, typing up the end of his report. Scully lies on the bed, Queequeg curled up at the end.

“I just can't get past it, Mulder,” Scully says finally. 

“This case?”

“The violence against women, all those innocent women who were just looking for companionship… I don't know. It's terrible.”

He's quiet for a minute before saying, “Does he remind you of Pfaster?”

Her eyes shut in a weary way that makes him immediately regret it. “Maybe a little. It's the same concept, you know… pure evil. Even in the sense of survival… like Tooms… it doesn't make it any less evil. I guess it just seems different because he preyed on their emotions, too.” She covers her face with her arm. “I talked to Ellen, you know. She's extremely embarrassed. I felt terrible for her.”

“I understand,” Mulder says. “It's a terrible thing to go through.”

At the end of the bed, Queequeg lifts his fluffy head. He gets to his feet and pads up to curl on top of her chest. He licks the underside of her chin. She smiles, lowering her hand to his back. It's a sweet picture. Mulder smiles a little. Maybe that little monster isn't so bad after all.

Far away, sirens wail. Queequeg lifts his head in curiousity, throws his head back, and howls. Little black nose pointed at the ceiling, he makes an almost inhuman wailing sound. Mulder winces. Scully bursts into giggles under the sirens and howls, scratching his little back. “Hey, Scully, how do you shut this thing up?” Mulder shouts over the noise. 

Somewhere else in the hotel, a bigger dog starts to howl. Scully laughs harder, covering her mouth with her hand. Mulder covers his ears. More dogs take up the song; someone pounds on their wall and shouts for them to shut the hell up. Scully closes her hand around Queequeg’s muzzle as the sirens and howls subside. “You hush,” she tells the dog affectionately, setting him down on her lap as she sits up. He wags his tail wildly, pawing at her arms and whimpering.

“I think that thing really loves you, Scully,” Mulder points out. 

“I know you do, Mulder,” Scully says, focusing on petting Queequeg. 

“Hey!”

“I'm kidding.” She offers him a small, coy smile. “I do think I needed that, though. I feel a little better now.”

“If all you needed was a howling dog all these years, I should've taken you on a werewolf case sooner.”

She rolls her eyes. 

\---

They don't bother flying for the case at the VA hospital in Fort Maryland. They take shifts driving instead, Scully taking the second shift. “Queequeg is not going to be happy,” she says, fiddling with the radio. 

“Are you really going to let that mutt dictate your life?” Mulder says lightly, rummaging through the takeout menus he's stashed in the glove compartment. 

“No, I'm letting you.” 

He turns to her in concern and she smiles a little to show she's kidding, eyes on the road. “I sense some hostility there, Scully.”

“Buy me some dinner and I'll back off.”

He buys her dinner. They take it back to her place where Queequeg wriggles with excitement in his cage, yapping in a way that Mulder's never heard before. (He hypothesizes that it's delight.) As soon as Scully lets the thing out of the cage, he dances excitedly around her feet, little paws scrabbling at her pants legs. “Hey, buddy,” Scully says affectionately, scratching his head. “Mulder, will you hand me the leash?”

Mulder hands her the leash. “Hey, flesh-eating monster,” he says to Queequeg. The beast ignores him, whining and jumping on Scully's legs. “TV trays?” he addresses Scully. 

“You know what I like,” she says dryly. “We'll be back in fifteen minutes.”

They're back in twenty. By then, Mulder's hunger has gotten the better of him and he's already halfway through his share of the takeout. “Mulder!” Scully protests when she catches him. 

“Relax, I put yours in the microwave,” he says. “You can heat it up.”

“My hero.” She makes a face at him as she hangs Queequeg’s leash by the door and heads into the kitchen. The dog has spotted him eating on the couch. He's at Mulder's side in about five seconds flat, rocking back on his haunches, front paws in the air, and is giving him a pitiful, pleading look. 

“Scully, your dog is staring at me,” Mulder calls, not taking his eyes off of the animal. 

“He does that.” The keypad beeps under Scully's hand. “You're pathetic, Queequeg,” she calls without looking back at them. The dog whimpers plaintively, not taking his eyes off Mulder. Great, he's locked in a staring contest with a Pomeranian. 

They eat their takeout and flip through channels on the TV. Queequeg doesn't leave Mulder's side as they eat, continuing to shoot the pitiful looks. At one point, an actual tear trickles out of his eye. “Scully, the dog is  _ crying _ ,” says Mulder, astonished.

“He does that, too. You shouldn't have any trouble resisting, though, since you clearly don't like him.” Scully takes her plate to the sink to rinse it. 

The dog makes no move to follow. He's barely moved from his position since he came in, occasionally going on all fours only to go back to his upright position, his ears cocked, eyes pleading. Mulder sighs, grabs a piece of cold chicken from his plate and drops it on the floor. Queequeg eagerly gobbles it up. 

“Broke you, huh,” Scully deadpans, leaning against the fridge and crossing her arms. 

“Yeah,” Mulder says. It seems like an opportune time to scratch Queequeg on the head, so he does. “Gets that from you, the little bastard. Knows exactly how to break me.”

Scully grins, shakes her head. “Just wait.”

“What do you…” He looks back to the dog, who's resumed his position from earlier, almost eagerly. 

“You know what they say,” says Scully. “Feed an animal once, they'll always come back for more.”

“I take it back,” he says. “This dog is clearly nothing like you. He's pure, spiteful evil.” Queequeg whimpers adorably. Mulder ignores him. 

\---

Mulder jumps onto a train, gets hit over the head and is found in Iowa, and walks away with a concussion and several cuts and bruises. Scully gets the call and takes him home from the hospital. She's told to monitor his sleeping schedule, to wake him up every hour, so she takes him home and makes up a bed on the couch. Mulder half-dozes, the TV flickering in the background. He's in pain, but his mind is fixed solely on the train car, what happened after he was knocked unconscious. They'll need to investigate, but Scully refuses to discuss it until he heals more. 

Scully wakes him up at nine and he falls back asleep until 9:58. Scully pads out of her room a minute later, Queequeg right on her heels. Of course the damn thing sleeps with her. “I'm awake,” he mumbles, reaching up to rub his forehead and wincing when his fingers find the sore spot. 

“How do you feel?” Scully sits by his side on the couch, checking his eyes with a penlight, pushing his hair back. Queequeg hops up by his feet. 

“Fine. Hurts.” He closes his eyes. “Frustrated.”

“Stop thinking about that damn train car,” Scully says sternly. “You need to rest right now, recover. Be concerned with that.”

“Whatever you say, doc.” The pounding is steady behind his eyes and he remembers suddenly that - sans concussion - Scully was in a similar position a few months ago. He taps her side in the flickering dark of the room. “Hey, Scully, we have a penchant for head injuries, don't we?”

“It would seem that way.” She smooths his hair again before standing.“I'll be right back, I'm going to go get you some water.”

The sound of water running echoes underneath the TV. Mulder suddenly realizes by the tiny paws on his legs that Queequeg didn't follow Scully. The beast seems to be sniffing his stomach, cautiously. He steps onto it, and Mulder grunts in protest - he's still sore from jumping onto the fucking train. The dog ignores him, coming up to curl on his chest. 

“Well, this is unexpected,” Scully says when she returns. “I never expected you two to form a truce.”

The damn thing is already asleep, snoring with his nose on his paws. “Want me to move him?” she asks. 

“No,” Mulder mutters. “Might as well make a truce with this thing if I have a chance.”

Scully grins. “Good idea. Besides, he's driving me crazy, he always manages to crawl under the covers.” She pats Queequeg on the head before heading into the bedroom, calling, “See you in an hour.”

Queequeg snores, a heavy weight on Mulder's chest. The sound is raspy and annoying. “I still don't like you,” Mulder tells the dog seriously before going to sleep. 


End file.
